Twenty-four years on, the promise to never forget still shapes the day. The 9/11 anniversary was marked Thursday with quiet rituals and public tributes from Lower Manhattan to the Pentagon and a windswept field outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Families gathered early, thousands strong, to hear the names read, the bells toll, and the silences fall at the exact moments when the world changed.
Ground Zero’s roll call of names and moments of silence
At the 9/11 Memorial & Museum in Lower Manhattan, the plaza filled before sunrise. Families entered at 7:30 a.m., clutching photos and roses, pinning ribbons to jackets, and tracing loved ones’ names etched into bronze. The formal program began at 8:30 a.m. as relatives and surviving coworkers took turns at the podium. One by one, they read the names of the victims of the 2001 attacks alongside those killed in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing—2,983 lives in all.
The ceremony paused six times, each silence tied to a precise time stamp from that morning. The city quieted as the bell sounded, and even the breeze seemed to hold its breath.
- 8:46 a.m. — American Airlines Flight 11 struck the North Tower.
- 9:03 a.m. — United Airlines Flight 175 hit the South Tower.
- 9:37 a.m. — American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon.
- 9:59 a.m. — The South Tower fell.
- 10:03 a.m. — United Airlines Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
- 10:28 a.m. — The North Tower collapsed.
By late morning, the roll call continued under a clear sky. Bagpipes led small processions; relatives tucked flowers into the memorial’s names. The program ran until about 1 p.m., giving families the space—and time—to stand together in the place where their loss is both public and deeply personal.
New York’s current and former leaders joined the crowd, including Mayor Eric Adams, Governor Kathy Hochul, former Governor George Pataki, New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy, and former New York City mayors Rudy Giuliani and Michael Bloomberg. They stood off to the side and listened as families spoke. The mood wasn’t political; it was quiet, steady remembrance.
Security was tight across Lower Manhattan. Streets near the World Trade Center site were closed off, with airport-style screening in place around the memorial. Elsewhere in the city, traffic advisories stretched longer than usual because of overlapping closures tied to the United Nations General Assembly on the East Side.
New York’s skyline took on a reflective tone as dusk approached. Governor Hochul directed more than a dozen state landmarks to glow blue, including One World Trade Center and the Empire State Building. The Tribute in Light—twin columns projected into the night—rose from Lower Manhattan like a ghostly outline of what once stood, visible for miles.
The 9/11 Museum opened early at 8 a.m. and welcomed families throughout the day, with the final entry at 5:30 p.m. and closing at 7 p.m. Admission remained free for family members, though staff urged advance reservations to manage crowds and keep the galleries from overflowing.
Across the nation: the Pentagon, Shanksville, and a generation that grew up after 9/11
In Arlington, Virginia, the Pentagon’s memorial benches cast long shadows across the lawn as families gathered to remember the 184 people killed when Flight 77 tore into the building’s western side. President Donald Trump attended the ceremony, reflecting on how an entire generation has come of age in a different world since the attacks. The Pentagon service carried a military precision—colors presented, wreaths laid, a final salute—tempered by the personal stories shared from the lectern.
Out in western Pennsylvania, bells rang at the Flight 93 National Memorial. The names of the passengers and crew—ordinary people who became extraordinary in minutes—were read aloud, followed by a quiet moment at 10:03 a.m., the instant the plane came down in a field outside Shanksville. Family members placed flowers at the Wall of Names. Rangers and volunteers guided visitors along the flight path walkway, where the wind seems to carry more than air.
Beyond the formal ceremonies, the day had a practical rhythm: school assemblies, community volunteer projects, blood drives, and neighborhood acts of service. Teachers explained the timeline to students who weren’t alive in 2001. Parents tried to put into words what that day felt like. The theme, echoed everywhere, was simple: remember the lives, remember the courage, and carry that forward.
New York’s downtown kept watch as well. First responders—firefighters, police officers, EMTs—and survivors returned to the plaza in clusters, some wearing department patches from across the country. Health screenings and support tents popped up near the perimeter as advocacy groups continued their yearslong push to make care accessible for those living with long-term effects tied to the attacks. It’s become a second mission of the day: honor the past and stand with people still dealing with the aftermath.
As daylight faded, the blue-lit skyline became the city’s final message. On sidewalks and rooftops, people looked up. Down at the memorial pools, families lingered a bit longer, fingers on names, photos in hand. The day remained what it has become each year: a shared promise kept in silence and in story, in ritual and in light.
